A Hawthorn for Hope
by Ellory
Summary: Pure-blood Culture: Years after Lord Harry Potter receives his first anonymous gift in the language of flowers, he finally meets his secret admirer: Lady Nephele Longbottom.


**Title:** A Hawthorn for Hope

 **Pairing:** Harry Potter/Nephele Longbottom and Ron Weasley/Lavender Brown

* * *

A non-descript school owl tapped on the window of Harry Potter's bedroom in the Head Boy chambers. He rubbed tired eyes and threw back the covers. A wide yawn split his face. He absently scratched the itch on his stomach as he wandered over to open the window. It took little effort to push it open, but the blast of freezing wind and the face-full of snowflakes was an unwelcome wake-up call. He had been planning to crawl back in bed after reading the missive, but that wouldn't happen now.

He had never been able to fall back asleep after being alert.

"Brilliant," Harry muttered, lips twisted in an expression that said just the opposite.

The owl screeched and lifted its right leg, revealing the velvet pouch that dangled from its talons. Harry untied it in silence, eyes narrowed with confusion. He recognized it. However, it was early. Was something wrong?

"Thank you," Harry said, his thoughts not focusing on the present time.

With another screech, the owl took off. Its wings flapped flurries of snowflakes into his face. Harry sputtered as he pulled the window shut, grumbling under his breath. "I hate the cold!" It reminded him of childhood nights at Privet Drive, and memories that he had learned Occlumency to lock away even from himself.

Harry hurried back to bed and got under the covers. He sat against the headboard, fingers fiddling with bag. Why was it so early? That worried him. One had never come early before. "What will it be this time?" he asked, anticipation flooding his body. He knew it would be a flower, but he didn't know what kind.

His gaze shifted from the velvet bag to his left wrist. The silver bracelet that encircled it had thirteen flower charms attached. He got the bracelet itself and a hyacinth charm for his eleventh birthday, before Harry had even learned about the magical world. It seemed like a gift more appropriate for a girl, but Harry hadn't complained; it was the first gift he had ever been given. The hyacinth, his first charm, was different from all the rest. It was the only one that came without a memory in it.

He chuckled as he remembered his previous ignorance. Harry hadn't even known that flowers and plants had meanings until the third week of Herbology back in first year. That was when he learned what a hyacinth meant: benevolence. The thought of someone having kind and well-meaning intentions toward him had brought him comfort—especially in a world that was so different from what he was accustomed to.

Since the bracelet and hyacinth came, he had received a new charm twice a year, and each came with a brief memory of him attached. Like clockwork, Harry got one for every birthday and every Yule. However, Yule was still several days away. The pattern was broken. "Why?"

Harry stroked the other charms on his bracelet. Whenever he opened the little velvet bags, they attached themselves to the bracelet in a specific order—the order in which he had received them.

"A currant, for thankfulness," Harry said as he touched his first Yule gift. He still didn't know what he had done to inspire that one; he wished he did. "A fern, for sincerity." His twelfth birthday present had distracted him from his forced imprisonment in his room. It reminded him that he wasn't alone. "An ivy, for friendship." Harry cherished that still, because friendship was the best Christmas present he had ever received.

"And for my thirteenth birthday," Harry said, as a charm balanced on his fingertip, "you gave me a hepatica, for trust." Trust was a gift not many deserved; Harry treasured it. That winter, before the truth of Sirius Black not wanting to murder him was discovered, he received yet another. "A bryony, for support." He was never alone, even when it felt like it.

The charm signifying his fourteenth birthday never failed to bring a blush to Harry's face. "A lilac, for earliest love," he whispered. If only he knew his secret admirer's identity! How did she always know just what he needed? His fingertips danced to the next charm, the one that came to him not long after the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament, when everything was falling apart. "A passion-flower, for belief." Whoever she was, she had believed that he could succeed, and that he hadn't put his name in the blasted Goblet of Fire. Such people were rare.

Upon turning fifteen, when his friends ignored his requests for information, and nightmares of the graveyard filled his mind, a little velvet bag came and restored some measure of peace. "A cypress, for mourning." His secret admirer hadn't tried to pry into his feelings; she had acknowledged their importance. And that Yule, as _the Daily Prophet_ continued a smear campaign against him and Dumbledore, she sent just what he needed. "A Lily of the Valley, for return of happiness." Knowing his pain caused her pain had made Harry try harder to be strong.

Harry didn't want to touch the present he received when he turned sixteen. The memory in it always made him cry. It was, perhaps, the most insightful of them all. "An everlasting, for perpetual remembrances." Sirius had died to protect him from Bellatrix Lestrange, and Harry would never forget that or his godfather. A blush colored his cheeks again as the next charm filled his vision. "A tulip, for declaration of love." Who was she? If her aim had been to win his heart, she had succeeded long ago.

His coming of age charm, received just months ago, still made him tremble. "A wild daisy, which asks the question, Dost thou love me?" Harry did. He knew only a pureblood witch would go to such trouble to express her affection in an appropriate manner. And he had decided that he would bond with her—whomever she may be. He didn't care what House she was in, how much magic she had, what her family name was, and her physical appearance didn't signify.

Harry Potter loved his secret admirer for her personality. She was the reason he had never sent anyone a courtship offer. She was the reason he had never been on any courtship dates. And he still didn't have any idea who she was.

"Please," Harry begged, "give me a clue."

His fingers shook as he opened the velvet bag that had been delivered early. He dumped it upside-down and caught the charm in his left palm. It skittered sideways and magically attached itself to the bracelet. Then, as had been the case with the last twelve, a memory swallowed him—as if he had stumbled inside a miniature Pensieve.

Harry stood still and it played around him. He was standing in the Gryffindor common room, watching himself sit in a chair by the fireplace. His feet were thrown carelessly over the arm of the chair, and his face was alight with laughter.

"I remember this," said Harry, as the noises of that night surrounded him. "It was just last week." He had never before been sent such a recent memory.

The Harry in the chair propped his chin on his hand and asked, "Hey, Ron, why did my invitation to your bonding with Lavender say 'Lord Harry Potter and Guest' on it?"

Ron Weasley snorted and looked up from the game of Exploding Snap he was playing. "Because Mum thought it would be tragic if you didn't bring your future wife to the bonding. She says it's 'the blackest of luck' for the Best Wizard to attend a bonding without escorting the love of his life."

Harry froze. "She's kidding, right?"

Ron flinched and rubbed the back of his head. "Not really, no. It's really old magic, Harry. Bondings and such. Are you sure you can't . . . ?"

He glanced away from Ron and brushed his thumb over the tulip charm. "I'll try."

The common room vanished, and Harry was left sitting in his bed. His gaze homed in on the newest charm, but he didn't recognize the flower. It was some type of rose, but that was as close as he could get. He wouldn't let that stop him, though. Heiress Nephele Longbottom was an Herbology genius; she was going on to get a Mastery in it after Hogwarts. She would be able to tell him what it was and its meaning.

Harry had never gotten ready for the day so fast in his life. He was showered, dressed, groomed and leaving his room within ten minutes. He walked so fast that he was almost running through the hallways. And he wouldn't have stopped at all if he hadn't heard someone speak her name. Maybe she hadn't made it to the Great Hall for breakfast yet, after all.

"Really, Seamus? Nephele Longbottom?" Dean Thomas asked. Harry had never particularly liked Dean, even though they were on the Quidditch team together. Dean had no respect for women. "Isn't she too curvy for you? I thought you liked slender girls."

"I do," Seamus said. "But Nephele's a pureblood. And her parents are both in St. Mungo's—so her husband would become a lord, since she's their only child. I'm talking Lord of the Valiant and Most Ancient House of Longbottom." Seamus laughed like a child in a candy store. "And if she gets on my nerves, well, I could always get a Severance."

Harry felt cold and hollow as that _evil_ word left Seamus's lips. A Severance was nothing to joke about. It was the magical equivalent of Muggle divorce, and it annihilated the victim's magic. How could Seamus even consider doing something like that? But especially to someone as innocent and sweet as Nephele?

"That's a good point," Dean said. "Sometimes things just don't work out, you know?"

And that sent Harry over the edge.

He hadn't wanted to hurt anyone this much since Bellatrix Lestrange had murdered Sirius right in front of him. Harry took a deep breath and walked past the alcove they were in, head down. If he saw them, he knew he would kill them for that.

"Oi, Harry!" Seamus's voice called out in greeting.

Harry gripped the strap of his book-bag so that he wouldn't reach for his wand. _Sectumsempra_ sat on the tip of his tongue, and there was no Snape anymore to heal a wound caused by it. "Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, from this moment forward you and your direct lines are enemies of the Honorable and Most Ancient House of Potter." He didn't wait to hear their responses before sprinting off.

He only slowed when he reached the Entrance Hall and saw Ron leaning against the wall with a scowl. Ron dragged a hand over his face and sighed. "I wish you'd give me a warning before doing that, Harry."

"It wasn't planned," Harry replied, feeling only slightly guilty for the rush of magic that would've just ripped through his First Vassal.

"Of course it wasn't," Ron sighed. "All right, I give. Who are we enemies with now?"

"Finnegan and Thomas," Harry spat. He was still wondering if he had made the right choice; it would've been so much easier to kill them.

Ron's jaw dropped, before snapping shut. "They _really_ must have made you angry."

The Elder Wand was in Harry's hand before he even realized he wanted it there. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Then we won't," Ron replied. "But if you storm into the Great Hall with your wand in your hand, you're going to freak everyone out."

"Right." Harry closed his eyes, slid his wand back into its holster, and then caressed his bracelet. As disturbing as the past few minutes had been, he did have something very important that he needed to find out. He opened his eyes. "I'm good."

Ron offered him a mocking bow. "My lord."

"Knock it off," Harry said, cheeks flushing. "I hate it when you do that in public."

Snickering, Ron said, "Why do you think I do it?"

Harry rolled his eyes and entered the Great Hall. Ron could be a prat sometimes, but he kept life interesting. Best mates were good for that. As usual, Harry was the center of attention once he entered the room. He had long since gotten used to it, though. As he walked toward the Gryffindor table, he answered the polite questions the younger students asked and returned every "good morning" thrown his way.

When he was less than five feet away from where the seventh-year students always sat, Nephele turned her head to answer a question from Parvati Patil. Her honey-colored hair was up in a high chignon, and there was a single red flower placed in it. It was a larger version of the charm he had received that morning.

Harry stood and stared at her hair as the realization sank in. Nephele Longbottom, Heiress of the Valiant and Most Ancient House of Longbottom, was his secret admirer and personal strength. And with that knowledge, his desire to murder Seamus and Dean returned.

"Whatever it is," Ron whispered, "bottle it up. No murder before breakfast, mate."

Harry claimed the seat next to Nephele, which wasn't all that unusual. It was like any other morning at the Gryffindor table. Until, of course, Harry wrapped his arm around Nephele's waist, pulled her firmly against his side, kissed her flushing cheek, and said, "Morning, my lady."

"H-Heir Potter?" Nephele squeaked.

So innocent, and all his. "After all these years, my lady, there's no need to be so formal. Call me Harry."

"G-good morning, H-Harry," she stammered, her face as red as the flower in her hair.

Harry grinned. "Much better." Then he leaned down and whispered the question he needed her to answer. "What flower is it, Nephele?"

She fiddled with the newest charm on his bracelet and whispered, "A hawthorn."

His voice lowered before asking the next question. "And what does it mean?" He couldn't tear his gaze away from her. She was captivating. She smelled wonderful, and he wanted to bury his head in her neck and breathe her in.

"Hope," she said, head ducked. "It means hope."

Harry relished her warmth at his side, and knew he never wanted it to change. Her hope would not be in vain. With a flourish of his wand, a bouquet sprang into his hand. It was the answer he had wanted to give his secret admirer for the last two years. He offered his answer in the same language the question was asked: the language of flowers. "Will this be acceptable, my lady?"

Nephele fondled the petals of the amaranth and honeysuckle flowers. Her big brown eyes were wet as she smiled up at him. "Yes, Harry. It's what I've always dreamed of having." Nephele leaned her head on Harry's shoulder, melted against his side, and accepted his offer of immortal bonds of love.


End file.
